“Looks like that rich chick with the Porsche is the bride-to-be,” Butch says in a teasing tone, and I see Paine grip his beer bottle so tightly I’m shocked it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

I reach out and grab his bottle as his eyes meet mine. “I’ll hold it for you, boss,” I tell Paine because I know where he’s heading. Straight for the dance floor to get the girl Butch is following. I down my beer and order another, enjoying sitting at the bar by myself. I ...